Sweet Longing
by Ravenlocks303
Summary: Sherlock and John attend a Christmas party hosted by Mrs Hudson. A game of truth or dare commences, revealing hidden feelings and opening possibilities? Johnlock :)
1. Chapter 1

It was an ordinary day, or as ordinary you could get in 221B Baker Street. John and Sherlock were sitting across from each other respectively in their own chairs. They had just come home from a murder scene a few streets away but it had been tiring. The boys had been there since morning and the sun was currently crossing over the horizon, casting an orange glow in the sitting room of their flat. The mystery was simple, and Sherlock had solved it within an hour but there was evidence to clean up, people to arrest and news reporters to please.

It was all very exhausting, and the comfortable quiet in the room was welcome. The crackling fire provided a nice warmth and the setting was very relaxing. John had a book out and Sherlock sat in his usual position- hands in a steeple, hunched over a bit, straight face, the face of someone not present in the room currently.

Long after the sun had set, John finished his book and looked up for the first time to see Sherlock sleeping on the couch, his long lean form curled up, head tucked on his arm, the slow rise and fall of his chest. John smiled, Sherlock rarely slept, and it was comforting to John that Sherlock had been able to rest in his presence. Of course he knew that they had a tight friendship, it was still nice to know that the other still felt that way.

John set his book down quietly and snuck up to his room, slowly and carefully closed his door and crawled into bed. Looking at the clock, his blurry eyes could just make out that it was 2:30am. Dreary eyed, John closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly, ignoring the foreboding feeling in his stomach.

Sherlock enjoyed the presence of John, the smaller man had a comforting aura, and lit up the room when he smiled. Sherlock had been dreaming, quite nicely in fact, of one of his and John's cases, a 9, one that had excited them both and was not disappointing. It was a difficult mystery but of course Sherlock eventually deduced the answer. It was so worth the compliments and smiles and looks of amazement and disbelief from John. The dream ended abruptly. Sherlock frowned at the loss of a nice dream. Opening his eyes, soft from slumber he saw two muscular men entering the flat.

His eyes widened in alarm, but not panic. He had dealt with kidnappers, serial killers, psychopaths and pretty much anyone else, but usually he was prepared. At the moment he was dreary and disarmed and unprepared. Sherlock shut his eyes, hoping that the men didn't notice, or just ignored him. No such luck.

"Don't be an idiot, stand up." A gruff voice huffed. Sherlock rolled his eyes behind his closed lids and stood up, now wide awake, in nothing but a robe. Both men had a gun pointed in Sherlock's direction.

"Should we check for anyone else?" The obviously younger sidekick asked his boss. "There's no other shoes or coat present, plus this is a flat for one, the other bedroom's upstairs but it's 11 o'clock. Everyone here would be awake or out by now." Sherlock silently praised John for wearing his coat and shoes to bed, and for going to sleep late and sleeping in, because of course Sherlock knew John was still in his room.

The men with ski masks covering their faces tied Sherlock to his chair using biting metal wire. Then came the duct tape In his mouth and the blindfold. "No, I want him to see what we do and be useless to stop it." Said the gruffer voice. The blindfold was removed and Sherlock sat with placid eyes, staring straight ahead, not showing emotion. John would be up soon.

The men paced around the flat, taking anything of value. Then they picked up Sherlock's violin. "Pretty thing this is." Sherlock couldn't hold the façade, his eyes widened as his beautiful violin was stuffed (not gently) into the black sack. "Ah, pretty boy don't like us taking his instrument." He spat the last word like poison. Sherlock started to hyperventilate. He tried to calm himself down but that only made it worse. Then he heard the faint footsteps of John getting dressed, grabbing his gun and opening the door quietly. The men hadn't heard, caught up in their robbery.

John had noticed, smart John. John crept closer to the sitting room, gun poised, but not entering yet, he was outnumbered still. He wouldn't shoot unless necessary. As the men were finishing up, the younger spoke up. "Uh, sir, because he can see, isn't he a witness?" "You're catching on son, yes, witnesses, what should we do with him?"

The younger looked nervous, not very comfortable with this whole crime scheme yet. "Shoot 'em in the head? Quick death?" The older seemed to ponder this then said "Use your imagination, I'll leave this one to you." And dropped his own gun in the sack and set it by the door, bolting it in place then returning to stand beside his companion. Young straightened up and asked Sherlock "Do you love someone?" Sherlock's mind ran with reels of John. Is that love? Certainly he loves John as a friend, but is that what is kidnapper means? Sherlock nodded, eyes wide but controlled. He loved his parents, he loved Mycroft, in some way, he loved Molly as a friend, and Mrs. Hudson, and maybe Lestrade too.

The man pointed his gun at Sherlock's heart and said "then think of them in your last thought as I shoot your heart out." Hurry up John, Sherlock thought. Sherlock closed his eyes and counted to three. 1… 2…. 3…. Bang. Sherlock waited for the pain, death, but it didn't come. Thank you John, he thought before he opened his wincing eyes to just see the young kidnapper slump to the ground. Shot from the back, perfect shot to the heart. John walked into the room, gun aimed at the elder kidnapper.

Giving up, not even trying, the man surrendered, eyes solemnly glancing back at the dead body of his partner. He let himself be tied up, forced to his knees. John's mind was somewhere else as he called Lestrade, muttered something about threat removed, come quick, Baker Street, before dropping the phone and striding over to where Sherlock was still tied up. John untied the wire, Sherlock sighing with relief as the cold bite of the metal was taken away. Red lines circled his wrists but he was otherwise okay.

After Sherlock took the duct tape off his own mouth and wincing slightly, John unexpectedly cupped the taller man's chin. Heat rose to Sherlock's cheeks at the sudden contact, John's fingers lightly pressing on his chin, tilting his head side to side. His fingers were so warm, and Sherlock had to fight the urge to lean down and kiss the smaller man, his savior. His nice thoughts were interrupted by the door clambering open and the police barging in. John lowered his hand and pointed at the tied up man in the corner of the room.

Sherlock's face felt cold in the absence of John's warmth. Lestrade asked what had happened, and John calmly explained how he found Sherlock tied up after he overslept, some amateurs ransacking their apartment, about to blow up his chest before I stepped in. Lestrade nodded in sympathy and understanding and quickly removed both the dead and alive man. Soon enough the pair was alone in the flat again.

"Well that was a rather eventful morning, wasn't it?" Sherlock inquired, completely unfazed by the mornings activities.  
"Indeed" John responded. "Hungry?"

"Starving."


	2. Chapter 2

After a silent brunch at Angelo's, a friendly restaurant on the corner, John and Sherlock took a cab over to Scotland Yard to look for a case. It had been less than an hour since the robbery and the boys were bored already. There had been no case, so the pair walked around London, breath fogging in the chilly air. A thin sheet of snow blanketed the ground, disturbed by footprints and tire tracks, wind whipped past their ears and a thick cloud cover blocked the sun.

"John, why is the world so gloomy, so boring and pointless." Sherlock blankly said, looking straight ahead. John chuckled. "You gotta make life interesting for yourself." Sherlock glanced at John through the corner of his eye, then resuming his gaze ahead. "Mrs. Hudson's at home decorating for her Christmas party tomorrow night, why don't we go help?" John suggested. "Christmas is a pointless holiday that I do not wish to partake in." Sherlock replied dryly.

"Alright, well, I'm going to help. Have fun not doing anything." John started to walk away before Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed suit. John smirked.

They reached the door of 221, now decorated with a hanging wreath. Sherlock groaned, John knocked. Mrs. Hudson answered the door and squealed with delight, embracing each before telling them what needed to be done. While John hung up lights and decorations, Sherlock stared at his laptop and subtly drank a cup of tea. Sherlock hadn't noticed the time going by, but soon enough it was time to go. Mrs. Hudson thanked John and pecked them both on the cheek before letting them go upstairs to their flat.

As they resumed their usual positions in each chair, John broke the silence. "You know, you can try to have fun, and let loose sometimes. You don't always have to be a stuck-up party pooper." John said this directly and firmly. Sherlock replied, unfazed, "how childish and immature these holidays are. Fun is overrated." Frustrated, John threw up his hands and went to his room. Sherlock looked up, what did he say? It stung a little but he was used to John's outbursts.

The next day, the day of the party, Sherlock was, once again staring at his laptop. John went to work and came back, routine. The party was starting in a couple minutes, and Sherlock hadn't moved. John was wearing an ugly holiday jumper. "Come on mate," he said to Sherlock. "I will not be going, haven't I told you this? Christmas is just a silly holiday." John frowned, then walked up to Sherlock and swiped away his laptop, closing it forcefully and placing it on the table.

"Sherlock Holmes, you will go downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's party. I cannot take this.. This idiocy, this uncaring, placid, boring bloody act. Have. Fun. You'll see how nice it is. Come on." Sherlock looked at John. He was so handsome when he was commanding. "Or what?" Sherlock answered, teasingly. "Or I'll take away your microscope." John tried weakly. Sherlock entertained the thought, amused. At least John had tried. John gave up the demanding act and was now pleading. "Come on Sherlock, everybody'll be there, and we love hearing you play, and there will be games and dancing, you love dancing."

"I love dancing alone. Fine. I'll go, but don't expect me to enjoy it." John grinned. Sighing, Sherlock plastered a fake smile on his face and followed John down the steps into Mrs. Hudson's flat. The elder lady greeted them and then left to answer the door. Molly strode in, followed by Lestrade, Mycroft, Donovan, Anderson and Anthea. Sherlock snarled in John's ear. "Why is Anderson here, if I'd known he was coming I never would have come." "I know," John smirked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as the room filled with soft chatter, greeting and laughter. "John why did you make me come and endure this torture." "Oh loosen up." John scolded, then grabbed the taller man's arm and handing him his violin. "Play" he said softly, and the corners of Sherlock's mouth turned upward. He instantly got into rhythm, playing combined carols. John smiled at the holiday spirit Sherlock was actually displaying. The tune came to an end with a quick crescendo and the guests clapped. Sherlock bowed and set down his instrument.

For the next few minutes, Sherlock sat in his thinking pose, making up murder scenarios in his mind to occupy himself. The chatter started to get awkward, and suddenly Molly suggested that they play truth or dare. Everyone but the Holmes brothers smiled and agreed. Mycroft and Sherlock both rolled their eyes and thought the same thing. Childish party games were pointless and immature. But they didn't really have a choice, for they were outnumbered and almost certainly going to be pressured into playing anyway. They complied and joined the forming circle in the seating area.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, rules." John said, putting his hands together. "All answers have to be honest, no exceptions. All dares have to be completed, no chickens, alright?" Everyone nodded.

"Ok, who wants to start?" No one said anything. "Molly, you suggested the game, how about you start." John said. Molly nodded and looked at Mycroft, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Mycroft, Truth or Dare." Anthea smirked beside him, sensing his awkwardness. "Um… uh… truth?" He stuttered, eyes wide. "Have you ever done anything you regret while drunk?" Mycroft looked taken aback.

Thoughts ran through Mycroft's head from the one time he was intoxicated, tricked by Sherlock into drinking himself into oblivion. The fire in his veins, the burning in his throat, it was addicting. That night he sat down in front of his theatre screen and sang along with Willy Wonka's oompa loompas. Anthea had stumbled upon him, and had the security video hidden, but she always kept a copy on a USB she carried with her, for some reason. Honesty. Mycroft looked over at Anthea and told her to just play the video. Anthea was all too happy to comply, inserting and playing the video through a laptop. Of course this had earned hunched over laughing and even a few tears. The man who was always formal and stubborn and serious, goofing around was the most hilarious thing.

It still cracked Anthea up, although she's watched it countless times before. "Alright alright that's enough I think." Mycroft surprisingly chuckled after flushing in embarrassment. The video was switched off and Mycroft focused his gaze on his little brother and smirked.

"Truth or dare, brother." He said it in a deep, taunting voice. If anyone knew one of Sherlock's secrets, it was Mycroft. Mycroft was also the smartest person in the room and could therefore calculate the perfect question to reveal one of those secrets. "Dare" Sherlock said smugly. A little disappointed, Mycroft quickly thought of a way to get Sherlock to loosen up. "Mrs. Hudson, do you happen to have a shot glass and some strong alcohol." He grinned. Sherlock sneered. "Really Mycroft, how childish can you be."

"I'm a middle aged man playing children's party games at a Christmas party with my little brother, what do you expect?" Mycroft retaliated. Sherlock shrugged and watched as Mrs. Hudson placed out tequila and a shot glass in the shape of a skull. "Thank you" Mycroft addressed the landlady and poured out the clear liquid. "Drink up!" Everyone watched as Sherlock picked up the glass with shaking hands and tipped back the contents. His expression went sour and everyone cheered.

Now slightly woozy, veins pumping, Sherlock shook his arms then concentrated, the game is on. "Anthea, truth or dare." Sherlock asked, focused gaze lying on Anthea. "Oh, I'm not playing, I'm just here-"she was cut off with protests from the group. "Fine, um, dare" she tucked her phone away. Sherlock smirked. "I dare you to kiss the person you desire most in this room, and we'll all cover our eyes. Only the person will know. Sherlock didn't want to embarrass her per se, he wanted the game to _really_ start, and have fun. Anthea turned red. "Um... I'm not… um "But everyone covered their eyes with their hands. "O… Okay then..." Anthea stood up and exhaled. Trying to be as silent as possible in heels, she walked over and placed her lips on Mycroft's.

Softly, tenderly, then pulled away and bit her lip. Mycroft was blushing. Mycroft Holmes, wasn't disgusted or repulsed. Anthea stepped back, resuming her seat. "Ok. It's done." Everyone eagerly opened their eyes, looking around the room for the chosen one. It was no doubt Mycroft, for his face was as red as a cherry now. Everyone smiled, and Mrs. Hudson had seen the whole thing. The elder lady took a seat in the corner of the room, watching who she considered her family play silly games.

Anthea looked at her lap. Game on. "Greg, truth or dare." The detective inspector sat back. "Truth I suppose." Anthea thought for a while before asking if he has a crush on anyone in the room. Lestrade joined the blushing crowd. "Uh, well, um, yeah…" Everyone except the Holmes brothers were wide eyed and hunched forward. A chorus of "Really?" and "Oh my gosh, who?" before Sherlock spoke up. "The question asked was answered he is not required to give out any more information." Lestrade nodded in thanks, then leaned forward.

He wanted to embarrass Anderson, he didn't know why but he just did. "Anderson truth or dare." Anderson replied defiantly, "Dare." Greg just wanted to have a bit of fun, that's all. "Do the chicken dance." Anderson sighed, why must he always be the stupid one. He stood up and proceeded to do the widely known dance. While everyone else was laughing and cheering for the chicken, Sherlock glanced over at John indiscreetly. John was smiling, laughing, enjoying the party and as a bonus hadn't had any alcohol. A warm feeling spread through Sherlock, seeing John so overjoyed, and him being a part of it.

Before John could notice, Sherlock watched as Anderson, out of breath, bowed and took his seat. Panting, he asked John. "Truth or dare, Dr. Watson." John looked skeptical but answered a firm "Dare." Anderson smirked and walked over to John and whispered something in his ear. Something that made John go stiff, blush and stutter. "No chickens remember?" Anderson teased. Everyone was asking what the dare was. Sherlock, beside John on the couch, asked him what Anderson said.

"It's… nothing." John responded and shook his head. The doctor cleared his throat and received perplexed stared as he looked up at Donovan. "Truth or dare." Sally straightened up and replied simply "Truth." Anderson then whispered into Sally's ear something. Lestrade perked up, "What's with all this whispering?" Anderson just smiled and chuckled. Sally nodded, confused. John looked back and forth between the two and cautiously proceeded with his question. Intending it to embarrass her and make it a quick question, he asked when Anderson and Sally had last… done it. Then John exhaled and moved his hand over to Sherlock's, which was resting on the couch beside him.

John's fingers entwined with the other man's and his thumbs caressed the others. Sherlock went rigid, Sally started talking and guests were listening, but Sherlock was focused on the electricity jumping through his veins. He looked down at their connected hands, so warm, so comfortable, so nice. Sherlock looked up at John who was chuckling and focused on Sally's answer. Sherlock now felt heat rise to his cheeks. When Sally stopped talking, John slipped his hand out of Sherlock's unresponsive one. Sherlock had wanted it back, but everyone was looking at him now.

"You alright mate? Gone a bit red in the cheeks." Greg asked him. "It's… um, the alcohol. Very strong." Sherlock stammered. "Ah, alrighty then." Lestrade said, satisfied with the rational answer. Did John do that just for the dare? Did he feel a connection? Did he like it? Did he find it repulsive? Sherlock's mind was hectic, screaming and confused. John's face was a mask.

Everyone got quiet then, Donovan was searching for a victim but before she could speak, the lights dimmed and a disco ball lit up, slowly rotating around, creating speckles of light scattered everywhere. A bass speaker played soft music. Mrs. Hudson, smooth, had noticed that there were 4 perfect pairs sitting in her living room, all too shy to make an approach to each other, except for Sally and Anderson. No one moved at first, then Greg stood up and walked over to Molly. He was shaking, but defiantly. He held out his hand, "Molly Hooper, may I have this dance?" he asked. Molly looked up at him, beaming. Then she took his hand and they fell into rhythm, close together they danced. Donovan and Anderson just stood up and automatically agreed to a calm waltz step. And then there were 4.

Mycroft turned to Anthea. "Look, I know we work together and all, but I was thinking-"But she cut him off by grabbing his hand and pulling him up. Mycroft grinned like a child winning a prize. Three pairs were dancing and swaying to the soft song. Sherlock looked at John. What should he do?

John looked back at him, meeting the intense gaze. Sherlock had to man up, perhaps it was desire, perhaps it was the alcohol, but either way, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him close. At first it was awkward and stiff, but John relaxed and let his body move with Sherlock's. He lay his head on the taller man's chest, listening to the racing heartbeat. Sherlock placed his head on John's, inhaling his scent. Four pairs danced together smoothly and silently.

Mrs. Hudson stood in the corner, hands folded together and a smile brighter than the sun plastered on her face. She felt accomplished and proud. About an hour passed by, each of the pairs distracted by their new feelings and experiences when suddenly John found himself holding a stiffened Sherlock. They had moved under a mistletoe. John looked up at Sherlock, surprised by the sudden change of movement and noticed what Sherlock had. Sherlock was still looking up when he whispered "Mistletoe." John found himself telling Sherlock that he didn't have to, it was alright, but Sherlock just looked down at his partner with desire in his eyes.

John stopped rambling when Sherlock connected his stormy grey eyes with John's soft brown ones. "Oh John, I have never wanted anything more" and he pressed his lips on John's. At first it was slow and sweet. Then John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and pulled him in closer. The pressure built up, Sherlock opened his mouth against John's and John kissed him deeper, biting Sherlocks lower lip, cupping the back of Sherlock's neck. He ran his hand through Sherlock's unruly curls, kissing along Sherlock's jaw and neck, driven by desire and passion. Sherlock melted, overwhelmed with happiness.

The other's had stopped to watch, and John pulled back sheepishly, grinning sideways. Sherlock was still surprised, happier then could be, longed for more contact, then focused back on reality. The lights came back on and Sherlock thought he heard Mrs. Hudson jumping up and down in delight, then she composed herself and walked into the room. She inserted a disk into the TV and played it.

 _Titanic_ started playing. Sherlock groaned. "Why must you play such a long, uneventful boring film?" Mrs. Hudson just smiled and brought out bowls of popcorn and cups of tea, beers and punch. John shrugged and took Sherlock's hand, dragging him towards the couch and grabbing two beers on the way. The others did the same, sitting together on the couches surrounding the television. John cozied up next to Sherlock, wrapping an arm around his waist and setting his head in the crook of his partner's neck. Sherlock draped an arm over John and relaxed. He couldn't believe he would have missed this.

Molly melted into Greg's side, and the DI couldn't have been happier. Anthea and Mycroft were still a bit shy, but were sitting beside each other holding hands. Anderson and Donovan had taken a spot on the floor, tangled in each other, but happy. The joy was palpable in the room, anyone who walked in would surely have the desire to smile. The movie played, and one by one the pairs fell asleep, even Anthea had taken residence sleeping against Mycroft's chest. Sherlock smiled, looking down at his doctor curled up against him as he closed his eyes and drifted off to the sweet music emitted from the TV.


End file.
